The L A Patient
by Flurblewig
Summary: AtSHouse crossover. House and his team get a new patient with symptoms they've never seen before...
1. Chapter 1

Author: Flurblewig  
Pairing: Ats/House Crossover Ensemble  
Rating/Warnings: PG13  
Timeline/Spoilers: AtS: S5,somewhere between Smile Time and A Hole In The World. House: S1, somewhere between Control and Mob Rules  
Disclaimer:They're not mine. I just like to take them out and play with them sometimes.

The guy behind the coffee-shop counter looks up and smiles brightly as she walks in. "Hi! How are you today?"

Nina sighs and pulls some crumpled bills out of her jeans pocket. "To tell you the truth –" she pauses, and peers at his namebadge – "Joe, not good. You know what it's like when you meet someone really nice at a workshop and you go out for drinks and really, like bond? And they say 'Hey, if you're ever in New Jersey, you just have to come and stay with me'? And so when you have a big fight with your boyfriend over the amount of time he spends with _his_ boyfriend – and yeah, they can deny it all they want, I'm not blind – you do the storming off thing and you decide you really need to get the hell out of L.A. And considering the only person you know who lives further away is an octogenarian great aunt in Wales that you haven't spoken to in twenty years, you think, 'great idea, I'll go and stay with Miranda in Princeton.'"

Joe blinks.

"And then, of course, Miranda turns out to be an alcoholic lush who can't even remember who you are but doesn't care because loads of people stay on her couch – and bring their fleas, by the looks of it – and it's fine, and don't mind the dog, he's friendly really, and can you possibly lend her twenty bucks for the rent? And you do, because you're an idiot, although you just know it's going on a few bottles of cheap vodka. And then you say you're going sightseeing, even though it's way too late, because you've made yourself paranoid about fleas and if you have to sit on that couch a minute longer you're going to scratch off one too many layers of skin for anything short of cosmetic surgery to fix. And you can't afford cosmetic surgery unless you go back to your very rich but very asshole-ish boyfriend. So you come out, and you wander aimlessly, until finally you think 'well, one thing I _can_ afford is a coffee.' You know what that's like, Joe? No? Well, that's how I am today. And don't look at me like that. You did ask."

Joe's eyes have become large and more than a little wary, but his smile stays valiantly on. "You want coffee?"

Nina sighs. "Yes, please."

She takes her grande skinny whatever-it-is over to a table, getting bumped into by a tall, thin guy on the way. The coffee spills, and she looks up with an indignant "Hey, watch where you're going." Tall and thin looks at her, dazed. "Yes, Master," he says, and wanders out. Nina watches him go, her eyebrows raised. Well, they certainly seemed to have a politer class of vagrant up here, she had to give them that.

Her nose is twitching; there's an odd smell under the normal coffee-shop top notes. Something unpleasant and vaguely sulphurous. She looks around, and sees that while there are only a couple of other patrons in the shop, they all seem to have the same vacant, nobody-home look. She sniffs, and there's definitely something not right here. As she brings her cup closer to her face, she gets a stronger whiff. It smells half organic and half chemical, and _all_ bad.

Son of a bitch! The coffee's drugged, or poisoned, or something. She marches back up to Joe, and demands to see the manager.

His eyes get even bigger. "You don't want to do that."

"Oh yes I do," she says, slamming the untouched cup down on the counter.

Joe just shakes his head mutely. Nina whirls round and shakes the shoulder of the girl sitting nearest her. "Hey! You! Wake up, and get out of here. Put the cup down –" she reaches out and pulls it out of unresisting hands – "and go home. You hear me? Go home."

"Yes Master," says the girl in a toneless voice, and gets up. The same routine nets her the same results with the old man and the guy in the crumpled business suit. When they've shambled out the door, she turns back to Joe. "Now," she says, "are you going to get –"

She breaks off as the door opens again and a figure comes through. And keeps coming. She takes a step backwards as the gigantic shape seems to spill through the opening and fill the entire front of the shop. It's dark green and shaggily furry, and seems to spend at least five minutes unfolding its various arms and appendages.

She sneaks a look back at Joe. "Right. I guess this will be the manager, then."

He gives her a tiny, apologetic shrug.

"Great," she says, and turns back to the beast in front of her. "Hey. Bit of a misunderstanding here, I think. Everything's sorted out now though, so why don't I just get out of your way and leave you to, uh, cash up or whatever. Okay?"

The creature takes a step forward. She doesn't understand the growling bark it makes, but she somehow doubts that it means 'okay.'

"Shit," she says.

"Interesting case for us to play with today, kiddies," says House. "A Jane Doe, found naked and unconscious and covered in bite marks."

Foreman shrugs. "So an over-enthusiastic customer got carried away. Sucks to be her and I hope the cops nail him, but why's it with us?"

House reaches for the whiteboard. "They weren't human bite marks."

Chase leans forward slightly. "An animal attack? Are they dog bites?"

"Not unless it was the size of a yeti. The bite radius on these babies doesn't match anything in anybody's database so far." He writes 'unknown bite' on the board, and then turns back to them. "She also has a fever of a hundred and six, her white blood cell count is seriously down and there are respiratory problems."

Cameron purses her lips. "Maybe that could – "

"Oh," says House, giving them a beatific smile. "And did I mention she's turning green?"

There's a moment of silence. "Green," says Chase.

"Green. Yes."

"Her skin?"

"Skin, hair, nails. Corneas, too. Give me ideas."

Chase shakes his head. "She's got Incredible Hulk Disease. She overdosed on spinach. She's an alien." Off House's look, he throws up his hands. "What? Come on, you can't be serious about this."

House puts the pen down and walks to the door. He turns back to Chase and crooks his finger. "Come with me. Then tell me how you think I'm joking."

Chase looks at Foreman and Cameron, who both shrug. They file out of the office behind House, and follow him to the patient's bedside.

"Okay," says Chase eventually. "You _were_ serious."

They all stare at the girl in the bed. She's restless, limbs shifting ceaselessly under the covers. Her mouth is open slightly and they can hear the breath whistling softly in her throat. Her skin is slick with sweat and is very definitely tinged with green.

"Some kind of poison?" Cameron starts to say, when the girl's eyes fly open. She utters a little shriek and her hands fly up to her face in a defensive motion, then seems to become aware of her surroundings and she flops back onto the pillow.

"Wha –" she says. "Wha –"

Chase steps forward and takes her wrist. "It's okay, you're okay, you're in hospital. You're safe now." Her pulse is weak and her skin hot and clammy to the touch. He can't help rubbing his fingers along it, but the colour doesn't come off.

"Demon!" she yells, and they all jump. Even House.

"Demon," she says again, although with a lot less force. She looks totally exhausted, and the whistling sound is becoming more like a wheeze. "In the – in the coffee place, it – oh God, it bit me. I'm – I'm infected. Demon venom. I need – there must be an antidote. I need – need- " Her voice is fading as her head falls back. "Angel," she finishes, and her eyes close.

"Told you it was a good one," says House. "Demons and angels, indeed. So – we add 'delusions' to the list of symptoms. Come on - differential diagnosis, people."

Cameron looks at Chase, who looks at Foreman. Then they all look at House.

Who rolls his eyes. "Do I have to do everything round here? Where are your imaginations? Okay, get some tests going – you know what to do."

"And what are you going to do?" asks Foreman.

House grins at him. "Start looking up exorcists. Just in case."

Chase prefers the hospital at night. It's quieter, more serene – less like a marketplace and more like a place of healing.

And he obviously hasn't had enough coffee if he's starting to get that poetic.

He pours himself another cup and goes back to their strange Jane Doe. She's calmer, but that seems to be due more to pure exhaustion than anything positive. He reaches out and smoothes away a tendril of hair from her forehead.

"You're going to be all right, Jane," he says. "You're sick, sure, but we're going to fix it. And you're hanging in there like a good girl. You're going to make it. You've got the constitution of an ox."

She makes a noise, and he leans forward. Did she just say something?

"Wolf," she says again, and this time there's no mistaking it. She turns her head slowly and opens her eyes, and he has to fight not to take a step backward. They're a bright, brilliant green – almost luminescent.

He swallows. "What?"

She gives him a weak smile. "Constitution of a wolf. And it's not Jane. It's Nina."

Chase returns the smile a little warily. Okay, that's… semi-lucid, at least. It's progress.

"Nina," he says. "Well, hey there. I'm Dr Chase. How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm being turned inside out," she says softly. "Which is not such an unfamiliar feeling as you might imagine. But- " She stops, and those unearthly eyes suddenly widen. "Shit. How long have I been here? What's the date?"

"The fifth," Chase says. "Look, Nina, I –"

She puffs out a long breath that turns into a coughing fit. When it's over, she passes a shaky hand across her face. "Fuck. _Fuck_." She reaches out and grabs Chase's hand, in a surprisingly strong grip. "Dr Chase, I need you to help me."

"That's what we're here for, Nina. We – "

She cuts him off, shaking her head. "No. Not like that. You can't fix this with drugs or surgery."

Chase frowns at her. Is this heading back to demon infections again? "What do you want me to do?" he asks calmly.

"Trust me," she says. "I need you to get restraints available. And I don't mean those little leather strap things. That's not going to be enough. I need chains."

"Chains," repeats Chase.

"Look, I know how this sounds. But like I said, if you're going to help me, you have to trust me. Get me some chains. And I need you to call someone."

"Sure, sure. I can do that. Who do you –"

"Wolfram and Hart," she says. "In L.A."

The name rings a vague bell somewhere. "A law firm? You want me to call you a lawyer?"

"No. Well, yes – they're a law firm, but I want you to call a guy named Angel. Tell him where I am – Nina Ash, my name is Nina Ash – and that I'm sick. Tell him it was a Mannika demon. He'll know what to do."

Chase sighs. "Nina – "

He only realises that she's still holding his hand when she squeezes it. Hard. He bites back on the undignified yelp that rises in his throat.

"I know what you must be thinking," she says. "I've been there. But I'm sick and I'm frightened and I don't have a lot of time so this is going to be the very short version. Dr Chase, monsters exist. All the stuff you were told wasn't real, is. Demons and vampires, and witches and werewolves. Especially werewolves."

"Werewolves."

"Yes. Right now, you're holding hands with one. I asked you the date because I need to know how long it is until the full moon. I don't have to tell you what happens to a werewolf at the full moon, do I?"

Chase shakes his head, mentally running through a list of anti-psychotics and calculating their effect on her existing medication.

"Tomorrow night," she goes on. "I will change. And if I get loose, I will kill people. Do you understand?"

"Sure. What I'll do is – ow!" This time, he can't keep from reacting.

"Do. You. Understand?" she says again, and her voice is different. Lower, deeper – and colder. And if her voice is hard, the look in her eyes is even more so. Despite himself, Chase shivers.

She keeps up the pressure on his hand until he swears he can feel the bones grind together, and bares her teeth at him. It's not a smile in any sense of the word, and he draws in a breath. For a second there –

For a second, a very long second, he thought he'd seen fangs.

She lets him go suddenly, and slumps back like all the fight has gone out of her. "Please," she says. "Please. Call Angel."

He backs away, his heart hammering in his chest, and goes straight to the office phone. He dials the first three digits of House's pager, then hesitates. Finally, he cuts the connection and redials. "Yeah, he says when it answers. "I need the number for Wolfram & Hart in Los Angeles."

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

The girl that Chase gets put through to is bright, cheerful and very friendly, but seems to have a little trouble processing what he wants. He sympathises as best he can with the fact that she'll never make her mother happy by marrying a doctor, but refrains – probably wisely, he thinks – from asking why. He's still hoping to finish the call before Nina ends up dying of old age.

When he reminds her that he's still on the line, she seems to gather herself. "Oh! Right, yes. Okay, hold on, let me see."

He waits while paper rustles and computer keys tap.

"Uh, no, sorry. Doesn't look like we have anyone called Nina Ash working here."

He stifles a groan and prepares to go through it again, when suddenly a new voice comes on the line.

" – me the goddamn phoneHarmony. Hello? This is Angel. Who are you, and what do you know about Nina?"

Chase hurriedly explains who, and where, he is. "We've been treating her as best we can, but what's wrong with her, it's – well, we're not really sure what it is. Her symptoms are – uh, particularly unusual. She's been unconscious or raving most of the time, but just now she had quite a lucid spell. She said – well, she said a lot of crazy things about, uh-" he pauses, then rushes on. "Being attacked by demons and stuff, but she also said to call you. So here I am. Calling you. And here you are, actually being, you know, real."

He presses his lips together hard, to stop any further inanities spilling out. There's a certain quality to the other man's silence that's unnerving – it doesn't even sound like he's breathing – but Chase knows he isn't helping anything by making himself sound like an idiot. He takes a measured breath, and forces himself to wait.

"What kind of demon?"

Chase blinks. "What?"

The voice is clipped and impatient. Chase gets the definite impression that this is a guy who's used to getting what he wants, when he wants it. "You said she was attacked by a demon. I need to know what kind Did she say?"

"Well, actually, _I_ didn't say she was– "

"Just tell me - _what kind of_ _demon?_"

"Uh, okay. She said –" He pauses, trying to think. Forget about the craziness of the conversation, just concentrate on the memory. What _had_ she said? "A Macarena? A Mannequin?"

"Mannika? A Mannika demon?"

"Yes! That was it. Mannika."

"Right. Do you have a helicopter pad?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. The air ambulance – "

"Fine. I'm on my way. Keep her alive, do you hear me? I can help her, just keep her safe until I get there."

"Okay. I – "

"Oh, and that crazy stuff you mentioned? It's not as crazy as you think. Be careful." He pauses, then adds: "Have you got any chains?"

When he finally hangs up the phone, Chase rests his forehead on the desk. What the hell has he gotten into?

He wakes to the sound of Cuddy's voice close to his ear.

" – to me exactly _why_ this patient is chained to her bed? Dr Chase? And while you're at it, perhaps you could also explain why my hospital appears to have been turned into some kind of Halloween parade?"

Chase blinks groggily, peeling his face away from Nina's sheet. As he looks up, he comes face to face with what looks like an astronaut in a dark, smoky grey spacesuit. A little sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream forces its way out of his throat.

He shoots backwards, overturning the chair and tipping himself onto the floor. The astronaut ignores him, remaining bent over Nina. On the far side of the bed, a thin, dark-haired girl in a lab coat is alternating between waving a strange metal contraption that looks like something out of Star Trek, and a big bunch of powdery herbs. She breaks off from chanting something unintelligible to smile and nod at Chase, and then carries on.

At her side is a guy in a long purple trench coat, a lilac Fedora and huge sunglasses. And – Chase blinks, but yes, it is what it looks like - bandages. The guy's face and hands are completely obscured by close-wrapped but soft-looking bandages. They match the hat.

Chase stands up, flinching slightly from the force of the glare Cuddy is levelling at him. "Uh," he says, which seems to completely exhaust his reserves of eloquence. He glances behind him and sees Foreman and Cameron taking in the scene. House stands slightly behind them, leaning heavily on his cane and looking straight at Chase. The expression on his face is possibly the scariest thing Chase has seen yet.

"There's something weird going on here," says Foreman mildly.

House nods. "Well, don't look at me, I ordered the Kung Po chicken. The weird with the side order of downright freaky seems to have been delivered for Dr Chase."

"Uh," says Chase again, holding up his hands. It's a plea for something, although he's not quite sure what. Time, maybe. He can explain this, if he can just get his head together.

Can't he?

House steps further into the room. "So, you felt you needed a consult from Buzz Aldrin, Dr Frankenstein, the Invisible Man and –" he breaks off, as a new figure walks through the door and over to the bed. "Billy Idol?"

"Hey," says the newcomer in an indignant tone. "He copied _me, _I'll have you know."

Chase isn't entirely certain who Billy Idol is, but presumes it's someone who's a big fan of leather and peroxide. Billy checks on Nina, who seems – amazingly, given all the fuss – to be sleeping, then turns back with his hand held out. Still feeling slightly stupefied, Chase takes it.

"So you're Chase, huh? Just wanted to say well done, mate. For looking after the girl, obviously, but also for getting us out on a field trip. I thought the bastard was never going to let me have a go in that helicopter."

"Uh," says Chase. It seems to have served him well so far; why fix what isn't broken?

Billy leans in close, and gives Chase a smile that's full of conspiratorial amusement. "Oh, and getting to see him prat about in that suit? Priceless. Absolutely fucking priceless. I mean, a _real_ vamp relies on his speed and a good blanket once the sun's up, you know? Not all this necro-tempered fibreglass business." He shakes his head. "Lost the plot, he has."

Chase is still trying to process the word _vamp_ when the astronaut's head jerks up, although surely there's no way he could have heard such a low whisper from all the way across the room. "Spike," he says in a long-suffering tone that still manages to be at least part warning.

"What? I'm soothing the natives, aren't I? You just carry on sorting Wolfina out. Leave the damage control to me." He turns back to Chase. "That's Angel, 'case you hadn't guessed. The Big Cheese of our merry little band. His trouble is that he's started believing his own press, living up in that ivory tower and ordering everyone around. Makes him forget what it's like to be the one on the ground, just tryin' to get the job done."

His eyes flick to House, then back. "You ever had a boss like that, Doc?"

"_Spike_. Stop trying to cause trouble."

Spike arranges his features into a perfect 'what, me?' expression and starts to say something else but then Cuddy steps forward. "Dr Chase," she says, and her tone is so glacial it could be a cure for global warming. "You _will_ explain yourself. Right now."

"Dr Lisa Cuddy?" says a voice, before Chase can go 'uh' again and/or get fired. They both turn to see a handsome black man in a very smart suit, carrying an expensive-looking briefcase. "Excuse me. My name is Charles Gunn and I'm with Wolfram & Hart, Los Angeles." An embossed business card is produced and pressed into Cuddy's hand.

She looks at it, then back at Chase. Her teeth are clamped together so hard he can see the muscles in her jaw working. "A law firm."

The man called Gunn follows the look and gives a quick shake of his head. "Dr Cuddy, let me assure you that I'm not here on unpleasant business. My associates and I are obviously very appreciative of the care you've given Ms Ash, and we'd like to discuss the making of an appropriate donation to the hospital, to reflect that appreciation."

She finally breaks the death-stare she's had trained on Chase to look up at him. "A donation?"

Gunn smiles warmly. "Of course. It's the least we can do. Wolfram & Hart has a sizeable budget for charitable contributions, so I'm sure we can come to a suitable arrangement. Is there somewhere we can go to discuss matters? Your office, perhaps?"

He takes Cuddy's elbow and steers her smoothly out of the room. Chase relaxes, letting out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding.

House watches them go. "Now that's what I call damage control," he says, giving Spike an appraising look. A very long, very obvious, very head-to-foot appraising look. Chase has never been sure whether that look is supposed to intimidate or titillate – or possibly both.

Spike lifts his chin slightly, seeming unfazed. If anything, it looks like he turns slightly to show off his profile.

Which is worth showing off, Chase has to admit. He hasn't looked at a guy seriously for a while now – and as always, he ignores the little inner voice that laughs at this – but he'd have to say that this Spike was worth a look. Maybe two. If it wasn't for the whole apparently _insane_ problem, of course.

Still, at least he hadn't gone the whole hog and got his teeth altered. Not like some of the guys Chase had known at that fetish club back in Sydney. And the bright blond hair was a bit unusual – that set usually went for the traditional black. Maybe he was a Lestat fan.

"Yeah, well," says Spike, shrugging. "Money talks faster than anything – even me."

House's gaze slips past Spike's shoulder. "On the subject of talking money…"

Chase turns to see Vogler appear in the doorway. He's good at looking thunderous – maybe the bulk helps – and right now he's surpassing every previous personal best.

"What," he hisses between clenched teeth, "is going on here?"

House fakes a yawn and gestures with his cane towards Cuddy's office. "The lawyer with the fat checkbook went that way."

Vogler just stares at him. Chase glances at the bed, where the girl in the lab coat is really working up a sweat with the chanting and waving. Nina is now awake and writhing on the sheet, her head thrown back and a low growling sound coming from her throat. She's very, very green. The guy in the bandages is trying to hold her hand but it's clenched into a tight fist. The chains clank against the bed as she pulls against them.

The astronaut – Angel – looks anxious. Or that's Chase's best guess, anyway – it's not all that easy to tell, under that faceplate.

"Is this right?" he asks the girl. "It doesn't look right."

She pauses, wipes her forehead with the sleeve of her coat and checks the readout on the Star Trek gadget. "It's not what I expected. Normally, Mannika venom is a soporific – it overpowers the host body's autonomy, inducing extreme suggestibility but not usually any physical change. I think what's happening is that the venom is reacting with her werewolf DNA - it's like the werewolf in her is fighting for domination."

"Right. So is that good, or bad?"

"Well, it's good in the sense that it's kept her with us this far. She was bitten so many times – with this much venom in her system, if she'd been fully human, she – well, let's just say she wouldn't be any more. But it's bad in the sense that it's interfering with the spell. The magic's calibrated to the Mannika aura, and the werewolf element keeps throwing it off. I'm doing my best, but - " She breaks off and gives him a helpless look.

"It's okay, Fred. Just – do what you can."

Vogler looks at House. "Did she just say 'werewolf'?"

House shrugs. "Do you have a better diagnosis?"

If looks could kill – and right now Chase is having enough of his assumptions about the world shaken that he wouldn't necessarily discount it – House would be in a crumpled heap on the floor breathing his last. As it is, he just turns to Cameron and Foreman and motions them towards the bed. "Get over there and monitor her," he says. "She's still our patient and still in our care. Maybe whatever witch-doctoring they're doing will help – God knows nothing we've tried has – and if so then I want to know about it. With diagrams." He pauses to pop a Vicodin. "There could be a paper in it."

"You will do no such thing," says Vogler. "You will call security to have these people removed, and then you will step out of this room. I will deal with this."

Cameron and Foreman both stop, and look uneasily from Vogler to House. "Well," says House softly. "You've got your orders, and you've got your patient. Your call."

Nina chooses that moment to let out an unearthly howl, and it breaks the paralysis. Cameron, Foreman and Chase all rush forward.

"_Fred_," says Angel. "Talk to me."

Fred takes a step back from the bed as the others cluster around, checking Nina's vital signs.

"Jesus," says Foreman. "Her blood pressure is through the _roof_."

Cameron looks up at House, then Angel. "She's dying."

"No," says Chase, lifting her eyelids and shining a light into her eyes. They're still a bright, glowing green but the pupils have contracted into slits. "_No_. Come on, Nina. Come on."

Fred shakes her head. "She's not dying. The werewolf won the fight. She's _changing_."

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

Angel's head whips round towards Fred. "She's changing now? In the daytime? Without the full moon?"

Fred nods, looking wretched. "The Mannika venom has given the werewolf autonomy over her system. It doesn't need the moon any more."

On the bed, Nina strains against the chains. Her breath is coming in low, raspy grunts and her head is whipping from side to side. On exposed areas of skin, there's a light covering of downy, green-grey fur.

Chase moves to touch her, but Fred puts a hand on his arm. "I wouldn't," she says softly. "There's nothing else you can do for her now, and she might - she might hurt you."

Angel's mouth sets in a straight line. "If her change isn't controlled by the moon any more – does that mean – " He looks over at Fred, who can't seem to return his gaze.

"Yes," she says quietly. "It means there will be nothing to make her change _back_. She'll never regain her human form."

Into the silence that follows comes a sudden beeping sound, and Angel jumps. "What the hell is that?"

"It's, uh, it's your cellphone," says Fred looking a little embarrassed. She leans over and pushes a button on the glove of Angel's suit.

"Angel?" says a slightly tinny voice. "It's Wesley. Can you hear me?"

Angel stares at Fred accusingly. "You built a cellphone into this thing?"

"Well, um, yeah. You just keep losing it, otherwise."

"Angel? Are you there?"

He sighs. "Yeah, Wes. I'm here."

"How is it going? Did you find Nina?"

"We did, but – it's not over yet."

"The spell didn't work?"

"No. Fred thinks the Mannika venom and the werewolf had a face-off, and the Mannika lost. She's going into wolf form, and it's looking like she might be stuck that way."

There's a pause. "I'm sorry. I'll do some more research, see what I can come up with."

"Yeah. Thanks, Wes."

"Oh, and Angel – is Fred with you? There's been a delivery for her today – a bit of a strange one. We're not too sure what she wants done with it."

"Yeah, she's here. What is it?"

"According to the documentation, a sarcophagus."

Angel turns to Fred, who looks confused. "A sarcophagus? For me?"

"You sure it's for Fred, Wes? She's looking blank."

"That's what it says. Okay, don't worry about it. I'll check it out."

As Angel presses the wrist stud to end the call, Vogler suddenly steps forward, shouldering Spike out of the way. Spike glares at his back, his nostrils flaring. "This guy," he says, "is really starting to piss me off. And he sure wears a hell of a lot of cologne." He sniffs again. "_Bad_ cologne."

Vogler doesn't spare him a glance. Instead he plants himself firmly in the middle of the room and stares at Angel. "This has gone more than far enough. I want you people out of this room, and out of my hospital. Leave the girl, and get out of here. Right now "

Angel turns slowly, seeming to notice Vogler for the first time. "Who the hell are you?"

Vogler draws himself up to his full height. "I am Edward Vogler," he says in a voice full of quiet menace. "And I am Chairman of the Board of this hospital. Which means, to all intents and purposes, that I _own_ it. Now get off my property."

"Vogler," says Angel slowly, his eyes narrowing. "As in Eastbrook Pharmaceuticals?"

Vogler inclines his head in agreement. "I thought that might get your attention."

"You know, I don't think we've been properly introduced," Angel says, taking a step forward into Vogler's personal space. "I'm Angel, CEO of Wolfram & Hart. I know all about your impressive company, Mr Vogler, and your even more impressive wads of cash. And you may well be a real big fish in a nice big pond who's used to everyone turning into frogs when you say 'jump', but let me tell you right now that you don't scare me. And you _don't_ tell me what to do."

There's a long moment of tense silence as Angel and Vogler stare at each other. Across the room, Spike pulls over one of the visitor's chairs and sits down. "Now this could be interesting," he says. "I don't say this often, but – go Angel!" He looks round. "Anyone got any popcorn?"

Vogler's hands have clenched into meaty fists. He raises his chin. "And what, exactly, do you think you're going to do about it?"

Angel leans in towards Vogler until the faceplate of his helmet is almost touching the other man's nose. "Why don't I show you?" he says.

Spike leans forward in his seat while Fred and Chase take a step back. The guy in the trench coat and bandages waves his hands. "Now, now, kittens. This is all very attractively alpha male, but we're in a _hospital_. It's not the place for violence."

Chase leans across to Fred. "Is that guy okay? With the bandages, I mean. Does he need me to take a look?"

Fred smiles and pats his hand. "Oh, no. That's just Lorne. He's fine, he just has – uh, a very individual fashion sense."

Angel grins. "Who said anything about violence?" Then he leans back and yells, "Gunn! In here, now."

House, who's been leaning on the back of Spike's chair, nods appreciatively. "Going for the _lawyer_. That's low. I like it."

After a few seconds, Gunn comes running. "Angel? What's up?"

"Eastbrook Pharmaceuticals," says Angel. "Do we know anything interesting?"

Gunn glances at Vogler, looking him up and down. "Probably. But if we don't, and we need to, I'm sure that won't be a problem."

Vogler frowns, looking from Gunn to Angel. "What are you talking about?"

Gunn smiles. "I have people – well, _employees_, anyway – in just about any field you care to name. Accounting. Tax. Contracts. Medical research. Share dealing. Ethical review boards, the police, the IRS. If you've ever cut a corner you shouldn't have, or even so much as dropped a gum wrapper and not picked it up, Mr Vogler, I can know about it within ten minutes of making a phone call. And I can make life very, very interesting for you and your company."

"Are you threatening me, Mr Gunn?"

"Absolutely not, Mr Vogler. When I threaten people, I tend to do it with an axe. I'm a traditionalist that way."

House leans down to Spike. "He's good, isn't he."

Spike grins. "You should _see_ him with the axe. Thing of beauty, it is."

Vogler is almost vibrating with rage. "Get out," he says, low and dangerous.

"Oh, I don't think so," says Gunn. "I think –"

Fred cuts in. "_I _think so."

They all stare at her. "I think we do need to get out of here," she says, then looks down at Nina. "I think we need to get _her_ out of here. Away from – from people." She looks up at Angel again. "She doesn't have much time."

Nina makes a sound that really could only be described as a _roar_. When she opens her mouth, there's no mistaking the fangs this time.

"Shit," says Gunn.

"Okay," says Angel. "We need to move." He points at Vogler. "You. Good news, you get what you want. For now, anyway. Now get out of my way. You – " he turns to Chase, Foreman and Cameron - "can you give her something? Knock her out, or at least calm her down?"

House looks over at them. "Isn't this the point where one of you should say 'I'm a doctor, not a vet?"

Foreman shakes his head. "You really are a piece of work, aren't you?"

House shrugs. "I'm watching my patient turn into a werewolf. I think that should cut me some slack when it comes to the use of inappropriate humour as a coping mechanism."

"Huh," says Spike. "Inappropriate humour as a coping mechanism. I like that. Remember that for me, willya Charlie? I'm sure I can get some mileage out of that."

"Can we please just focus, people?" snaps Angel.

"I don't think you should be moving her," says Cameron. As she reaches across the bed, Nina snaps at her hand. She gives a little shriek and pulls back. "Okay, maybe you've got a point."

"We're going to need confinement facilities," says Fred. "There's no way we've got time to get her back to L.A." She checks her gadget again. "We've got maybe half an hour at most."

Angel looks at her. "Fred – is there any way we can stop this happening? _Anything_ we can do?"

She doesn't respond, but her face is enough of an answer. Angel sighs. "Okay. Then yeah, we need somewhere to take her. Somewhere that'll hold her." He looks around, with an expression that isn't really hopeful. "I don't suppose you have a cage on the premises?"

House shakes his head. "Budget cuts," he says. "You know what it's like."

Chase clears his throat. "I know a place."

Everyone looks at him. "Well, aren't you the dark horse?" says House.

Cameron takes a step backwards and folds her arms. "You have a _cage_?"

"No, no. It's not mine. I just – I know someone who does. She has a, uh, a dungeon. Cage, manacles, that kind of thing. You know."

"Can't say I do," says Cameron.

"Your loss," says Spike, getting out of the chair. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go see the Doc's dungeon-master." He glances over at Chase. "Her name's not Drusilla, is it?" He pauses. "Or Buffy?"

"Uh, no. It's Emma."

Angel glares at Spike. "Buffy?"

He gets a smug grin in return. "You _never_ knew her, did you?"

"Buffy," says House, in a nostalgic tone. "Now _there_ was a woman."

Angel's glare swivels towards him, quickly joined by Spike's.

"Kidding," says House, holding up his hands. "It was just too tempting."

"Top tip, sweetpea" says Lorne, leaning in. "Don't tease the vampires. They get cranky. Especially about Bu – about she-who-must-not-be-named."

"Okay. No more Buh, I promise. But it does sound like there's a good story in there."

"Yeah," says Spike. "Maybe I'll tell it to you when it gets to be bedtime."

"I think I need some help here," says Chase, hesitating near Nina's bed with a syringe in one hand. She's thrashing so wildly the whole bed is shaking. Angel catches one arm while Spike holds down the other, and she snarls in fury.

Chase injects the drug, which seems to have no effect whatsoever. He shakes his head. "I can't risk giving her any more. That was already a higher dose than I'd normally dare use. I don't know what it might do."

"Bugger all, by the looks of it," says Spike. He takes a half-step back, then punches Nina square in the face. Her head snaps to the side, and she's still.

"Sorry, pet," he says. "But we're on a deadline here and there's no time for playing nice."

Angel growls and reaches over the bed, grabbing the collar of Spike's coat in one gloved hand.

"She's out," says Chase, checking her breathing. "But I don't know how long for. I'm not saying I approve of his choice of anaesthetic but we might as well make use of it. So I think you two need to put your issues on hold while we get her out of here."

"_Thank_ you," says Spike, pulling his coat out of Angel's grip and smoothing it down. "At least someone appreciates a bit of efficiency."

Angel hesitates, but finally throws up his hands and turns to Chase. "Okay. Let's do this. Get her up, chain her hands and feet and get something to use as a gag. And we're going to need someone's car."

"More than one," says House. "We'll take Chase's and Foreman's."

"Oh, will we?" says Foreman.

"Well, Cameron's little girly number is too small to be any use and we're not taking mine – I have a strict 'no pets' policy."

"What makes you think you're even coming with us?" asks Angel.

"She's still our patient, and I'm not letting her leave this hospital without knowing she's still going to have medical care. Whatever mumbo-jumbo you've got in mind, you're still going to need a doctor around. And there's no way I'm going to miss out on seeing Chase's dungeon."

"Emma?" says Chase into a mobile phone, one finger stuck in his ear. "It's Rob. Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Listen Em, I need to use your place." He pauses. "Now. Like, right now. We'll be there in ten minutes. What? Well, you'll have to tell them it's double-booked. We'll pay you more." He looks over at Angel, who nods. "Trust me - money's not a problem, Em." He pauses again, then gives a short bark of laughter. "Yeah, yeah, bad day at the office. You could put it like that."

He hangs up. "It's sorted."

"Cameron," says House. "You're Command Central, okay? You stay here and keep an eye on things."

Her mouth falls open. "What? You're leaving me behind?"

"I have a duty to look after your moral welfare. Can't go leading you into a den of iniquity, now can I? I'd never forgive myself if you got all corrupted."

While Spike gives him a disbelieving look, Cameron sinks into a chair with a frustrated sound. Angel pulls a business card out his pocket and hands it to her. "This is the private line of the guy I was talking to earlier – Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. He's a friend of mine, and he's a good guy. If anything bad happens, call him."

Cameron takes the card, looking suddenly wary. "Is something bad likely to happen?"

Angel hesitates. "It just never hurts to be prepared."

He walks back to the bed, lifts Nina up and heads for the door, cradling her in his arms.

Fred pats Cameron on the shoulder as she goes past. "Thanks for everything," she says. "You were great. Really. You just handled the whole, you know, _situation_, so well."

Cameron sighs. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm used to working for a monster. Makes the disbelief easier to suspend."

"She loves me really," says House to nobody in particular, and Cameron throws him a sour look.

"Okay, boys and girls," says Spike, throwing a blanket over his head, "let's go."

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

It's quiet after they've all gone; suddenly, eerily, quiet. Cameron looks around the deserted room and rubs her arms. She feels cold, a little dazed and more than a little confused about exactly what happened in here.

The sheets on the bed are rumpled, sweat-stained and, in places, torn. She pulls the covers up, absently rubbing the hand that almost fell foul of Nina's snapping teeth.

(Fangs, yes, she knows they were _fangs,_ but somehow she keeps sliding away from that word like she can't quite bring herself to look it in the eye.)

She walks back to the office, looking over her shoulder nearly every step of the way. Cuddy's door is shut and there's no sign of Vogler. There's no sign of anyone. She shivers slightly, fighting off a sudden, irrational conviction that she's alone in the entire building. It's a hangover from childhood, an out-of-nowhere certainty that settles over her like cold fog: _they're gone they're all gone there's no one left you're all alone._

She shakes herself, and tries to find some paperwork to concentrate on. Some lab reports maybe – something with numbers and facts and concrete empirical data.

It doesn't work. She stares at a few sheets of paper for a while without absorbing any of the contents, then pushes them aside with a sigh. Finally she takes out the business card Angel gave her, running her fingers over its smooth surface. She hesitates for a second, then picks up the phone.

It's answered swiftly, before the first ring is even completed. "Pryce," says a man's voice.

It catches her off-guard; she was expecting to have time to think better of it and hang up. "Oh," she says. "Yes. Um. Hi."

"Can I help you?"

She wouldn't call the voice warm, exactly, but the tone is mild and there's an undercurrent of something that sounds like amusement. Friendly, laughing-with-not-at-you amusement, as opposed to the kind she's got used to hearing round here.

"I, uh, I'm not actually sure. You don't know me - my name is Dr Cameron and I'm at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. I – "

"You're with Nina? Is everything all right?" Immediately, the voice becomes sharper, more focused. She imagines this unknown man leaning forward in a swish, executive office chair, poised to push buttons and call minions and make things happen. What must it be like, to have that kind of power? That kind of _respect?_

"I think so," she says. "But I'm not with her any more. The others – Angel, and some of the other doctors here – they took her out of the hospital, to - to somewhere safer. They were worried that she might be, uh, dangerous, I think."

"I see. Then you're aware of her condition, I take it?"

Cameron closes her eyes for a second as laughter tries to stir in her throat. Condition. _Condition_. As if what she saw this morning was on a par with a particularly irritating fungal infection.

"Dr Cameron? Are you all right?"

She chokes the laughter back down. She's a woman in a high-expectation, high-pressure environment. Hysteria has never been an option.

"Yes. I'm fine. Thank you."

He pauses. "I'd imagine Nina's was a unique case for you, yes?"

"Yes," she says, and her voice is almost a whisper.

"It must have been quite a shock." Now she's sure she's not imagining the warmth in the voice. It feels soothingly non-judgmental; the impression it gives is definitely that it's okay to be a little disturbed. A little freaked out.

Or maybe she's just projecting. House says she does that a lot.

"I, uh – " She stops, and takes a deep breath. "Yes."

There's a small sound, like a brief sigh. "I remember when I had my first…encounter, shall we say. I had the benefit of training and a family background in the subject, but it was still a rather traumatic experience. I can imagine how you must be feeling."

"Training?" She smiles, if a little shakily. That's a good word. A comforting word. It implies rules and regulations and management. It implies control.

"Yes," he says, and she thinks that the old cliché really is true: you _can_ hear a smile in someone's voice. The one she's listening to right now sounds a little wistful.

"So you, uh, you people deal with this sort of stuff all the time? Werewolves, I mean, and – and demons. Vampires." She shakes her head. Did she really just say those words out loud?

"More than we'd like, yes. Oh, and I should probably say – you met Angel and Spike, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Well, they're pretty unusual as far as vampires go. I won't go into the technicalities, but it comes down to the fact that they're the only two who won't try to kill you. If you ever see another vampire, run."

"Right, right. Thanks." Her voice cracks on the last word and suddenly, unexpectedly, her eyes are full of tears. She didn't ask for this; didn't ask to know that the world really is just as scary and full of horrors as she always suspected but refused to believe. She didn't ask for it and she doesn't know how she's supposed to deal with it.

"Dr Cameron? Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes. No." Her hand is shaking, making the receiver flutter against her ear. "I'm scared," she says quietly, as the hot, shameful tears begin to spill. It's hardly a revelation; she's been scared all her life. She was scared of finding love, and of losing it – so she married a dying man. She was scared of death, so she became a doctor – but now there's this whole other world of things to be scared of. Real, physical, flesh-and-blood evil. What does she do about that?

"It's okay," he says, his voice so gentle that it makes fresh tears fall. "It's good to be scared. Remember – if you can keep your head when all around you are losing theirs, it means you really don't understand the seriousness of the situation."

She laughs then, a shuddering exhalation of air that seems to release the tight knots that had gathered in her chest and throat. She tucks the phone between her chin and shoulder, and wipes her eyes with both hands.

"Thank you, Mr Pryce" she says, and her voice is rough but steady.

"Wesley, please."

She smiles. "Then I'm Allison. But really, I should let you go. I'm sure you have more important things to do."

There's a long pause – so long that she starts to wonder if he's simply taken her at her word and cut the connection. But then he says, "I have things to do, yes. But _important_ things – lately, I've been wondering about that. There was a time when this kind of phone call, it was – well, it was what we _did_. What we were there for. I keep asking myself why that changed, and I don't really have an answer. And that worries me."

Cameron leans forward in her seat. "What happened?"

"Can you hold on for a moment?" There's a clicking sound, and she hears his voice from a little distance. "Harmony? Please call down to the lab and have them put that delivery for Fred into storage. I'm not going to have time to inspect it. Standard physical and magical containment procedures. Thank you."

Another click, and his voice comes through strong in her ear again. "That's better. Now, where were we?"

_Let's go_, Spike had said. Which was proving a lot easier to say than do. Chase had never given much thought to the logistics of getting eight people and an unconscious werewolf into two cars – but if he had, he would probably have opted to stay behind with Cameron.

They're on the fourth attempt at a combination that will get everyone in without creasing Lorne's coat, jiggling Fred's equipment, ripping Angel's suit, breaking House's leg or setting Spike on fire, when Gunn holds up his hands.

"Okay, I call time out. Listen, you guys go on without me. We've got some people in the area, so I'll go pay a few visits and see what I can find out about this Vogler character, just in case we do need some ammunition in the future. I like to do my homework early." He looks at his watch. "And besides, I'm meeting Lisa for lunch at one-thirty."

Chase's hand slips in the middle of loading House's cane in the back seat, which earns a muffled howl from Spike. He pokes his head out of the car to stare at Gunn. "You're going out with Cuddy?"

Gunn flashes him a winning smile. "It's all about making contacts, my man. And good Italian food, obviously." He raises a hand in salute and walks away.

House grins as Chase watches him go. "Wishing Daddy had been a lawyer instead of a doctor? At least you could have followed in his footsteps in better shoes."

Spike's voice drifts up from the blanket-covered lump tucked behind the driver's seat. "If you've finished flirting with your puppy, can we go? I hate to be a party pooper but, you know, almost _combusting_ down here."

Angel stretches his arms out along the back of the seat comfortably. "Wanna tell me again how much of a – what was it? Ponce? - I am for getting this suit?"

Chase glares at the blanket. "_Puppy?_"

It snorts. "Oh, come on. Don't even try to tell me you're not his bitch."

Chase's eyes go wide and there's a muffled sound from the other car. He glances over to see Foreman looking back at him with a carefully blank, innocent expression. "What?"

Chase ignores him, trying to control the blood flow to his face by sheer force of will. He jumps when Fred lays a hand on his arm. "Robert," she says gently. "We really need to go. Take no notice of Spike. He's just –" she shrugs. "Spike."

Chase nods, taking a deep breath to compose himself. Fred heads towards Foreman's car while House lowers himself into the passenger seat. "Woof," he says, with a look of such frank speculation that it blows any chance Chase ever had of stopping the blush from lighting up his face like a nuclear reactor on meltdown.

He shakes his head and reaches down to start the ignition. "I thought the vampires were supposed to be the evil ones," he mutters as they drive away.

Emma's place is a small, single-story workshop with a drab grey exterior that makes it indistinguishable from all the other units on the little estate. She's waiting outside when Chase's car pulls up, a large bunch of keys swinging from one hand and a big, welcoming smile on her face. The smile widens when House opens the door and eases himself out, then takes on a slightly fixed look as he's followed by Angel. It begins to falter a little when Foreman's car arrives, and by the time Fred and Lorne are helping to lift out a chained-up Nina, it's dropped away completely.

She holds up her hands. "Whoa, wait a minute. What is this? Rob, what the fuck are you into, here? This is – " She breaks off as Fred steps forward, reaching into her bag and coming out with a chequebook. "None of my business," she finishes, taking the cheque Fred writes out and folding it neatly into two. The smile returns as she slips it into her jeans pocket, and tosses the keys to Chase. "Have a nice day."

Fred shrugs at Angel's look. "It works for Charles."

Chase fits the key into the lock and opens the door, holding it wide as Spike hurtles out of the car and dashes into the dark interior. "Great," he says, throwing off the smouldering blanket. "No windows. I like this place already."

The cage is built against the left hand wall, and is about six feet square. "It's not much of a habitat," says Fred as Spike and Angel haul Nina inside, "but I guess it'll do." She rattles the bars. "It seems sturdy."

Nina lays limply on the floor as Angel attaches her chains. Chase bends down and checks her pulse; it's a little weak, but it's there. "She's okay," he says. "Well – relatively speaking, of course."

When Nina's secured, they all troop outside and Angel locks the cage door. House looks at him expectantly. "Phase one complete, then. What happens now?"

Spike looks around. "Hmm. We're holed up in a sex dungeon. Wonder what there might be to do?" He grins at Chase, who flushes again.

"What we need to _do_," says Fred sternly, "is figure out exactly what happened to Nina. Maybe if we know a bit more, it'll help us work out how to fix it."

Angel nods. "Good idea. So – what _do_ we know?"

"She came in as a Jane Doe," says House. "Found naked and unconscious by a guy out walking his dog. Nobody could figure out what was wrong with her so she was brought to us. She had a fever and she was talking about being bitten by a demon – we thought she was delusional at first, obviously."

Fred scribbles on her little notepad. "And she said it was a Mannika demon."

House looks at Chase, who nods.

"Why did it attack her? Did she say what happened?"

"No. She just said it bit her. Infected her."

In the cage, Nina slowly begins to stir. She gets up onto all fours, her hair hanging down over her face, and growls.

"We need to be able to talk to her," says Angel. "Fred, is there anything you can do? Even to just delay the change, so that we can try to get through to her?"

Fred considers this. "The spell can't reverse it, but it might be able to hold it off. It's worth a try."

"Do it," says Angel, and she tips out her bag and gathers the stuff together. Angel watches anxiously as she begins the chant.

"Nina," he says urgently. "Nina, it's Angel. Can you hear me? Can you understand me?"

Nina sways, her eyes rolling, but after a while she lifts her head and seems to focus on him.

"Nina. We're going to help you, but we need to know what happened."

She moves slowly, easing back into a sitting position. Her breath is shallow and a little ragged, but her eyes look clearer. "Angel," she says.

"Yes. Yes, I'm here. Tell me what happened to you."

"Coffee," she says. Angel shoots a confused look at Fred, who returns it. "Coffee _shop_," Nina continues. It looks like it's costing her some effort. "Near Miranda's. Venom in the coffee. Mannika. Controlling people. Joe – guy called Joe – he knew – I tried – I tried – " She breaks off, shaking her head wildly.

"Angel," says Fred. "I don't think I can hold it any more."

With an agonised cry, Nina collapses to the floor. Her body convulses and stretches, and it's quickly apparent to all of them that they've heard all the speech from Nina that they're going to. The wolf howls and launches itself at the bars, but they hold. Chase notices that all the humans take at least one step backwards.

"Phase two, then," says House. "Investigate this coffee shop."

Fred nods, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. "That looks like our big lead. You know where this Miranda lives?" she asks Angel.

"Yeah." He takes her notepad and scribbles down an address. She rips the sheet off and tucks it into her jacket pocket, then turns to Chase and Foreman. "Well? You guys ready to go be detectives?"

Angel's head whips round to face her. "Hey, Fred, wait a minute. I think I should – "

She shakes her head impatiently. "The longer Nina's in this state, the harder it's going to be to get her back. We need to move now - and in case you'd forgotten, it's the middle of the day. That counts Spike out, and in that suit you're not exactly going to be the world's sneakiest undercover agent. That goes for you too, Lorne." She turns to House. "And no disrespect intended, because you seem like a really smart guy and I'd love to have you with us, but if something comes after us and we need to run, you're gonna end up getting eaten. And I don't want that on my conscience. So - "

House blinks. "No. Well, I wouldn't want to think of you losing sleep on my account."

"At least he might tranquilise it, with all that Vicodin in him," Chase mutters. "Or give it indigestion, at least."

Spike claps him on the back, knocking him forward and almost off his feet. "That's the spirit, Doc. You know, there might be hope for you yet."

"_So_ – " says Fred loudly, swinging back to Chase and Foreman, "that leaves us."

Chase looks at Foreman, who shrugs. "It beats clinic duty. I'm in."

Fred beams at both of them, and they follow her out of the door.

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

The first coffee-shop they come across is a Starbucks - as bright, neat and characterless as any number of clones around the country. They stop outside and peer through the window.

"Starbucks is evil, right?" says Foreman. "This has to be as good a place as any to start."

Fred looks at him doubtfully. "Well, yes, but as far as I know it's only the normal money-grabbing-soulless-corporation evil, not the actual demonic kind."

"Maybe they mind-control people into wanting their stuff. Maybe that's how they got to be so big."

Fred still looks unconvinced, but nods. "I suppose that's possible. We should probably check it out."

"And the mocha frappuccinos _are_ really good," says Chase, heading for the door.

Foreman grins at Fred. "Maybe not."

They buy frappuccinos all round, and settle into one of the little booths. Chase plays with his straw as Fred surreptitiously takes readings under the table with her tricorder gadget. "So," he says, "how did you come to be in the, er, demon-hunting business?"

She gives him a hurried smile and then looks back down at the screen. "Oh, you know how it goes. Girl gets sucked into interdimensional portal, girl gets rescued by vampire, girl goes to work for vampire. The usual story."

"Right." He pauses. "You know, I never would've said I'd led a sheltered life, but…" He breaks off, and shakes his head.

Foreman grins, and Chase raises an eyebrow at him. "You sure seem to taking all of this in your stride."

Foreman sips his own drink, and shrugs. "I got an uncle lived in California for a while. Place called Sunnydale."

Fred looks up with interest. "Really?"

"Yeah. I stayed with him for a couple of days when I was a kid. Saw some stuff. Thought it was, you know, some bad weed or something. I never went back there and he moved away pretty quick. Said it weren't friendly to our kind. My mom thought he was talking about being black, but…I was never quite so sure."

Chase frowns, thinking. "Sunnydale… isn't that the place where they had the big earthquake last year?"

Fred nods. "Yeah. Technically speaking, it's the place where they had the big Hellmouth collapse, but it more or less accounted to the same thing. Spike was there. In fact, Spike pretty much made it happen. He died doing it, but his incorporeal essence was trapped in an amulet that someone sent in the mail to Angel and he hung around our office as a kind of ghost for a while before someone sent _another_ parcel and he got his body back – although really, we're still kinda trying to figure the logistics of that one out."

Chase puts down his drink. "Spike _died?_"

Foreman rolls his eyes. "He's a vampire, Chase. Hard to manage that without dying."

"Oh, sure. Well, excuse me for not getting my degree in Fucking Weird Shit. I must have missed class that day."

Fred tucks her gadget back into her bag. "Actually, that was the _second_ time Spike died. He was already a vampire. The first time was back in the nineteenth century."

"Hear that, Chase? You like 'em older, don't you?"

"He died twice?" says Chase, with a fierce 'don't go there' look at Foreman.

"Uh huh. That's not actually as unusual as you might think. Look, guys, I don't think this is our place. I'm not reading any hint of magical activity, and nobody's tried to bite, mind-control or even so much as look funny at anyone else. The only animosity I've seen in the entire place is coming from you two. I think we need to move on."

Chase and Foreman glance around at people buying coffee, reading newspapers or books, chatting with friends or making calls on cell phones. Foreman nods. "Not exactly a hotbed of nefarious activity, is it? Okay then, let's go."

Chase gulps down the rest of his frappuccino, and they head for the exit.

Over the course of the next hour, they check out and dismiss a further three places, getting closer to the address Angel gave Fred. The quality of both the neighbourhood and the coffee seems to go down a little each time.

"She couldn't have got herself bitten in a nice bar?" Foreman mutters, by the time they're on to the fourth. It's called The Blue Mountain, and looks the dingiest of the lot so far. Chase and Fred sit down at a dirty, unwiped table covered in sugar and crumbs, while Foreman goes to the counter and buys the smallest espressos available.

"Now this," says Fred, checking her gadget again, "has real possibilities. I'm picking up something, here. I'm pretty sure there's some residue of – something."

Chase sniffs his coffee suspiciously. "Very scientific, Fred."

She prods him in the knee with the sharp edge of the machine. "You want to take over?"

"Yow. No. Sorry." He rubs his forehead. "I think it's the caffeine overload."

Foreman grins. "Lightweight."

Chase pushes the cup towards him. "Fine, I'm a lightweight. You drink it, then."

Foreman eyes it, but doesn't move. Chase holds out his hand. "Rock, scissors, paper."

Foreman groans, but holds out his own hand. "Paper," he says, then sags as Chase triumphantly cries, "scissors". He picks up the cup and tosses back the dark, thick coffee.

Fred rests her chin on her hand, expression caught somewhere between dismay and amusement. "Oh well. I guess that's one way of testing it."

Chase watches Foreman intently. "So – this venom makes people controllable, is that it? It takes over their will?"

Fred nods, and Chase leans forward to stare directly into Foreman's eyes. "You will do exactly what I tell you," he says in a commanding tone, and then waits.

"The fuck I will," says Foreman, eyeballing him right back.

Chase picks up the empty cup, peering into it in disappointment. "I don't think this is the stuff."

Fred aims the gadget at it, and shakes her head. "No. But this is the place, I'm sure of it."

Chase puts the cup down again. "So what's the plan? What do we do?"

Fred shrugs. "What we always do. Make it up as we go along." She gets up, slides out of the booth and goes over to the counter. The girl serving is very short and very round and, by the look of her expression, very bored.

"Hey," says Fred with her brightest smile.

The girl looks up. It takes a while. "Hi-how-are-you-today," she says in a flat, uninflected voice.

"Good, good," says Fred. "I, uh, actually I was hoping to speak to Joe?"

The girl glances at the clock. "Joe does the night shift. He won't be on until ten." She looks back at Fred again, her little eyes narrowing. "What do you want with him?"

Chase and Foreman exchange looks, and slide out of the booth to go and stand beside Fred.

"Well, we're here to pick up a sample, " she says firmly. "You know, the new batch? It's got to be tested." She angles her bag slightly so that the girl can see the gadget inside.

There's no reaction for a few seconds, and all three of them hold their breath. Eventually, the girl leans forward towards Fred. "I wasn't told about that."

"Yes, well, plans change quickly in our line of business," says Fred. She inclines her head towards Chase. "Dr, uh, Jones has just flown in from Australia to do some very important, um, DNA level cross-referencing on the base formula."

The girl's eyes flick up to the clock again. "Nobody said anything to me. I think you'd better wait for Joe."

Chase steps forward. "We can't do that," he says crisply. "I'm on a deadline here and it's got to be done now. If it's not, then the whole lot might have to be scrapped. You want to be responsible for that?"

The girls eyes them all individually, obviously uncertain. She purses her lips. "You got authority for this?"

Chase draws himself up and gives her his best imperious look. It's pure House. "Of course."

She looks him slowly up and down, rather than jumping to attention. It seems his technique needs work.

"Yeah? Who from?"

His shoulders drop a little. Busted. He sneaks a glance at Fred, who gives him a small 'I got nothing' shrug.

He sighs. Well, it was worth a try. He casts around for a name, just for the sake of saying something. "Vogler," he says, trying not to let the defeat sound in his voice.

The girl's head comes up sharply. "Oh," she says, a new kind of respect suddenly evident in her tone. "Well, why didn't you say so before? Wait here, I'll go and get it for you."

She disappears into the back of the shop, leaving Chase, Foreman and Fred to stare after her.

Angel checks his watch for the tenth time and then thumbs the buttons on his wrist for at least the fifteenth. He listens, then drops his arm in frustration. "Gunn's not picking up, and Wesley's line is still engaged. What the hell are they doing? Don't they know we have a crisis going on?"

Nina yawns loudly and lies down at the front of the cage, dropping her head on her front paws. Angel glares at her. "Thanks, sweetheart. A little backup here might've been nice."

He resumes pacing up and down, and Nina watches him. Her body is motionless but her eyes track his every move. He sighs. "I wish she wouldn't do that. She's starting to make me a little nervous."

"She's just devoted," says Lorne soothingly.

House contemplates the wolf, his head on one side. "Actually, she looks kinda hungry to me."

Angel stops pacing. "You know, that's a good point. She must need food."

"I'll go," says Lorne. "There must be a butcher's shop around here somewhere." He picks up his hat and puts it on, tugging the brim low to shade his face, then slips out the door.

Angel slams his hand against the wall. "I hate just waiting," he says. "I feel so _useless_." He stops, and whirls round to glare at Spike. "Don't say it. Don't even think about saying it." Then he turns the glare on House. "_Or_ you."

"Say what?" says Spike, with a wide-eyed look. House swallows a small smirk along with a Vicodin.

Spike watches him put the bottle back in his pocket. "Give us one of those, then."

House shakes his head. "Nuh-uh."

"Oh, go on. Vampire constitution, remember. Whatever it is, it's not going to do any damage."

"I'm sure it isn't. But this is _my_ stash. I don't share."

Spike pulls out a cigarette. "Then I guess I'll have to make do with my own vices. So – I suppose that's the story of your life, is it?"

"What?"

"'I don't share.'"

House sits down on a wooden crate at the side of the cage. "Well, I don't think I'm exactly famous for my altruism or caring nature." He shrugs. "I employ people to do that kind of stuff for me."

Spike blows out a perfect smoke ring and grins at Angel. "I've heard that's quite a popular strategy. Why keep a dog and bark yourself, right?" He glances down at Nina. "No offence, pet."

Angel shoots him an angry, indignant look. "Hey. I care."

"Sure you do. The whole power and riches deal with Wolfram & Hart was just done to make the world a better place, right? The whole power and riches and flunkies and sports cars and helicopters and private jets and big office and designer gear and – oh, and penthouse, let's not forget the penthouse – deal. It was a purely selfless decision."

Angel's face darkens and he turns away. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't understand anything about that."

Spike takes another drag on the cigarette and sighs. "Ah, the old 'you can't understand my pain because I won't tell you about it' routine. You learn that from Buffy or was it the other way round?"

Angel takes a step toward him, hands clenching into fists. Spike shakes his head. "We'll have to save the fight until we're back at Wolfram & Hart, or at least until the sun's gone down. I can't take you seriously in that get-up." He stops, and thinks. "Oh, what the hell. If I could take you on when you were a puppet, I can handle a space-suit."

Angel gives him a dangerous smile. "Even two foot high and made of felt, I kicked your ass."

"Oh, please. I totally let you win so that you wouldn't look like such a ponce in front of everyone." He gestures with the cigarette at House. "Now _that_ was altruism."

House gives him a contemplative nod. "Right. Thanks. I'll bear that in mind in case any of my team ever gets turned into a puppet." He pauses. "Does that happen a lot? Because a puppet Chase might actually be kind of cute. You could probably market them."

Spike grins. "Like the full-size version's _not_ cute? Not to mention having the advantage of being anatomically correct."

"Spike," growls Angel.

Spike waves a hand. "Oh, get over it. You got your bits back, there was no harm done." He looks back at House. "His anatomy actually _was_ correct. It was just that it was also detachable."

House blinks, and shifts a little on the crate. Spike's grin widens. "Course, the advantage is that when someone says 'go fuck yourself', you – "

He breaks off as Angel's fist connects with his jaw. He goes down, then rolls over onto his back and lies there, laughing. "Don't worry," he says to House, who's half-standing. "Your professional skills aren't needed." He wipes a small line of blood from his lip and grins. "For us, this is foreplay."

House sinks back down onto his seat. "I had no idea my life was so dull," he says in a wondering tone. "Well, no, that's not true. Obviously I knew – I just didn't know quite _how_ dull."

Spike grabs Angel's foot as it comes in towards his head, and twists. Angel curses, and goes flying. "You should try it," says Spike and then pauses. "Well, no, maybe not. Although – " he stops again, looking at House's cane. "The concept's adaptable."

He climbs to his feet, only to reel back from a punch to the side of the head. He slams into the wall, and a black bullwhip falls from its fastenings. Spike grabs it, and unwinds the coiled leather. "Your boy Chase looks the sort who might need a bit of correction now and then."

He cracks the whip, facing a growling Angel. "Come on, then. Remember Copenhagen? Boot's on the other foot now, huh?"

They circle each other while House moves his crate to a better vantage point. Nina gets up and sniffs the air, a guttural rumble building in her throat.

House settles down again and then leans in towards her. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm not even sorry about missing the soaps today."

She looks at him and then past him, at the door. It begins to open, and Spike quickly jumps back from the shaft of sunlight that darts through.

Lorne's head appears. The collar of his coat is wonky and his hat is askew. "Uh, guys," he starts, then stumbles into the room. He picks himself up, and glares at something behind him. "Hey! How many times do I have to say 'mind the coat'?"

House raises his hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness. The light seems oddly alien in the small room.

Nina begins to howl, and Spike and Angel take a step towards each other. "Lorne, what's - " Angel begins, but he trails off and Lorne is pushed forward once again, even more violently. A tall, bulky-looking man appears in the doorway behind him, quickly followed by a second. And a third. Four, five and six are a bit slower, but that seems to be because they're weighted down by a small arsenal of weapons.

The men fan out on either side of the door, wearing identical black suits and impassive expressions. Spike reaches a hand down to help Lorne to his feet, but doesn't take his eyes off them. "What's with the goon squad?"

Lorne brushes himself down. "Yeah, I ran into some new friends here. Seems they were out running an errand, too."

Angel looks over at him. "Errand? What errand? Who for?"

Another figure, even bulkier than the others, steps through into the room. "For me," says Vogler. He smiles widely. "And it looks like they succeeded, doesn't it?"

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

Chase slides carefully into the passenger seat of Foreman's car, pressing down tightly on the lid of the large styrofoam cup he's holding. "One tall demonic mind-control potion, extra foam. As ordered."

"I can't believe we did it," says Foreman, reaching down to start the ignition.

Fred leans forward from the back seat and smiles at both of them. "You did great. You guys are naturals."

Foreman grins back at her. "Well, we've been sent on some freaky-ass missions before, but I think this one definitely qualifies as the freakiest ass of them all." He stares at the cup in Chase's hands with wonder. "What do you suppose Vogler's game is?"

Chase shrugs. "Stuff like this, it could be turned into a tranquilliser, an anaesthetic, a date rape drug, a weapon, anything. One thing's for certain - it'd make him a boatload of cash, whatever he did with it."

"Man's a billionaire anyway, though, isn't he?"

"Sure, but how much money is _enough_ money?"

Foreman pulls out into the steady stream of traffic. "Maybe he got bored with making money and just wants to take over the world."

There's a little pause while they all look at each other.

"I think we need to get this stuff back to Angel," says Fred, and Foreman puts his foot down.

Vogler steps further into the room, taking care to keep within the patch of sunlight. One of the black-suited men slips outside, taking up a sentry-like position. The remaining five heft weapons: stakes, crossbows, handguns. One holds a rifle, pointed towards Nina. She bares her fangs and growls, and he raises it to his shoulder.

Angel takes a step forward, and the crossbow swings to cover him. It's loaded with a thin, sharp and deadly-looking wooden bolt. Vogler looks at him calmly. "Your suit may protect you from the sun, but it doesn't look like it's going to be quite as efficient at keeping out a stake. Shall we test it?"

Angel's whole body tenses, but eventually he moves back again. Vogler smiles. "Better. Now, I'm sure we can conclude matters like civilised men."

"Personally," says Spike, "I've always thought civilisation is highly over-rated." He snatches House's cane out of his hand and throws it like a spear at the guy holding the crossbow. House overbalances, his leg giving way under the sudden loss of support. He crashes to the ground just as a bullet zings through the space where his head would have been.

The cane finds its target and the crossbow flies out of its owner's hand, the bolt discharging and ripping through a row of rubber dresses hanging on a rail before slamming into the side wall.

"He'll pay for damages," says Spike, pointing at Angel, and then feints towards the guy with the stake. The guy starts a counter-move but Spike has already changed direction, a booted foot lashing out to connect with the wrist of the guy holding the handgun. Bones shatter audibly, and the gun goes skittering across the floor. Lorne dives for it while Angel throws himself at the rifleman, who's been edging towards Nina's cage. They grapple for the weapon, until Angel brings a knee up hard into the man's groin. He inhales a loud, sharp breath and begins to double up. Angel wrests the gun out of his hands and slams the butt up into his chin. The man's head snaps back and he immediately drops to the floor.

Lorne gets to his knees, holding out the pistol in wavering hands. "Stop," he says to the room in general. "Just – stop." When nobody pays any attention, he shuffles across the floor towards House. "I _hate_ this part," he mutters, trying to cover them both with the gun.

House pulls himself up painfully into a sitting position, wincing as he straightens his leg. "Yeah. I think I preferred the bits without the murderous violence myself."

A fist suddenly appears out of nowhere, catching Lorne full in the face. He rocks backwards, and the fist uncurls and grabs at the pistol. It fires, and a hole blooms in the roof above. Sunlight streams down.

"Shit," yells Spike, snatching back the hand that had been about to reach out to Lorne. He tucks it into his armpit, and a small trail of smoke drifts upwards. "Angel," he calls. "_Angel_."

Lorne's attacker punches him again, a heavy gold ring slicing through the bandages and drawing blood. Lorne staggers backward and his head cracks against the wall. He lets out a whoofing sound and slides to the floor.

He sits still, blinking rapidly. "Remind me," he says to House, "that I'm not the hero type, huh?"

Behind them Nina goes wild, hurling herself repeatedly at the bars and snarling. Angel dashes across the room and launches a flying kick that sends the black-suited man crashing head-first against the cage. He shudders as Nina's claws slice through his neck, his heels drumming a staccato rhythm against the floor. A bright jet of blood soaks her fur.

The two remaining men retreat, backing off towards Vogler. One still has a stake, and he brandishes it at Angel.

Vogler looks at them, and then at Angel. He seems equally disappointed with both. "Well now," he says. "I was hoping things weren't going to have to get so – " he breaks off, and looks at the bodies on the floor. "Messy. But I can see you have your own way of doing things, and I respect that." He takes his hands out of his pockets, and chuckles. "Never let it be said I can't be flexible in my business dealings."

Spike takes a step forward, and Vogler turns to face him, lifting a hand to shield his eyes against the sun. "And what are you going to do, Mr Vampire? Glare me to death?" He smiles. "Your boss is the only one who can risk coming over here, and he has more sense than that."

"I wouldn't count on it," says Spike, as Angel takes a swing at him. "And he's _not_ my _boss._"

Amazingly, shockingly, quick, Vogler reaches up and grabs Angel's fist. They stand locked together for a while, the surprise evident on Angel's face. Vogler's smile doesn't waver.

It does, however, turn green.

The suit he's wearing seems to evaporate somehow, to be replaced by rough fur and grassy-looking nodules. A few extra pairs of arms – well, limbs of some sort – appear in unlikely places. The smile becomes full of small, razor-like teeth.

"Well, shit," says Spike. "He's the Mannika?"

Lorne looks Vogler up and down. "Good colouring," he says grudgingly. He struggles to his feet, leaning down to help House do the same.

"Oh, come on," says House. "Don't tell me I'm the only one who saw that coming."

When they all look at him blankly, he shrugs. "Like I said, I'm not known for thinking the best of people. Still – If you've got to die, at least it's nice to be able to do it while being vindicated. I _told_ Cuddy he was evil."

"Nobody's going to die," says Angel. He glances down at the body by the cage. Nina's managed to drag an arm through the bars and is chewing on it. "Well, nobody else."

Vogler turns the sharp, mossy-coloured smile on him. "I'm afraid that's going to turn out to be an inaccurate statement."

"Well then, we'll just have to agree to disagree." Angel smiles back. "Or I could always prove you right by ripping your head off. If that's not too uncivilised for you."

Vogler flexes his many fingers. "Oh, sometimes I think it's good to take a more hands-on approach, don't you?"

They begin to circle each other, when there's a screeching roar from outside and Foreman's car comes skidding into the lot. "Angel," calls Fred as they come tumbling out of the car. "We found the coffee shop, it – "

She breaks off as she sees the guy on guard duty outside. The sunlight glints on the gun in his hand. "Oh, hi there. We, uh, obviously have the wrong address. Sorry to bother you. Come on, guys."

She backs up, but Vogler's voice carries from inside. "On the contrary, Ms Burkle, I would be personally honoured if you'd join us."

Chase peers inside. "That sounded like - is that – oh. Oh, shit."

He starts to turn, but the gun comes up and they all freeze. The guard motions them inside. "You wouldn't want to refuse Mr Vogler's kind invitation, would you?"

"Oh god," says Chase as he's shoved unceremoniously through the door. "We're going to die."

"I think we just did that one," says Spike.

Fred shrugs off the guard's hand and walks inside unaided. She drops her bag and raises her hands in the air. "It's okay. Angel's got a plan. Angel always has a plan."

They all look at Angel, who shrugs. "I was going with the whole head-ripping-off thing."

The guard pushes Foreman through too and then stands by the side of the door, the gun held steady in both hands. The other two have recovered their stakes and crossbows, and have them all trained on Angel and Spike. Vogler shakes himself and long, wicked-looking spines shoot out from the tips of his fingers.

Spike looks at Chase. "Okay, you might have had a point."

"Last chance to settle this," says Vogler. "All I actually want is the werewolf. If I'd realised at the time what she was then we wouldn't be in this position, but – " he shrugs. "My bad. But now that I do know, I want her back. Such a fascinating specimen. She would enrich our, um, _research_ greatly. For a man of science such as myself, she's a wonderful opportunity for study. So why don't you just let me take her and we can wrap this whole thing up without further bloodshed."

He looks at them all in turn, then smiles. "Oh, who am I kidding? I _love_ bloodshed."

With a roar, he launches himself at Angel. A fast swipe with one of his front arms rips a half-dozen clean slices through Angel's suit and smoke immediately begins to rise from it. Angel leaps backwards out of the sun, slapping at his chest. He glares at Vogler. "Goddammit! Do you know how much this thing _cost? _It used up just about half my whole budget for personal protection."

Spike's turns towards him, eyebrows raised. "You have a budget for personal protection? How come _I_ don't have a budget for personal protection?"

Angel waves away the residue of smoke drifting up from the suit. "Maybe because I don't want you protected?"

House clears his throat. "Do you think you two could try fighting the bad guys first? It's just a thought."

"We'll talk _budgets_ later," spits Spike, and lets loose a spinning kick at Vogler. It knocks him back a couple of steps, but he stays upright. Spike lands on one foot and spins sideways again to avoid the patch of sunlight from the hole in the roof. "I feel like a bloody ballet dancer," he mumbles.

He drops flat to the floor at the sound of the crossbow being cocked, and the wooden bolt whistles above his head to thud into the wall. Angel ducks a blow from Vogler's tail and grabs the crossbow out of the guy's hands before he can reload. He smashes it over his knee, sending pieces of wood and metal flying.

Fred dodges a piece of shrapnel and glances at Chase and Foreman. They all look at the guy holding the gun on them.

He shakes his head. "I wouldn't, if I were you."

"I would," says Spike, and grabs House's cane from where it had fallen earlier. He brings it round in a wide arc, cracking the gunman over the head. He staggers, and Fred dives for the gun.

Vogler swings back around, one of his spines almost impaling Chase while his tail sends Foreman crashing into the wall. Spike darts forward but is brought up short by the sunlight streaming through the roof. On the other side of it, Vogler smiles and takes a step towards Fred.

Spike shouts her name, as she finally manages to wrest away the gun. She whirls and holds it out towards Vogler, who laughs. "You don't seriously think that little thing is capable of hurting me?"

"No," says Fred. "But I'm hoping she might be." Her arm moves a few degrees and she fires into the lock on the cage door.

Nina throws herself at it again and this time it gives, swinging wide open. She stalks out into the middle of the room, growling. She sniffs the air and her head swivels slowly towards House and a still-bleeding Lorne. She takes a stiff-legged step towards them.

Vogler laughs again. "Not a bad plan. But you forgot your basic nature lessons, I'm afraid. The predator will always go for the easiest prey. And that, my dear, isn't me."

"I didn't forget," says Fred. "That was only part one of the plan." She keeps the gun trained on Vogler. "Robert," she hisses. "The coffee. The _coffee_."

Chase stares at her, then sees where her eyes dart to. He's standing by the right-hand side of the door, where she'd dropped her bag earlier. The styrofoam cup of venom is still inside, and the lid is still on.

He reaches down and grabs it, then flips off the lid and flings the contents at Nina. The greenish liquid splashes into her face and she lets out a startled yip. She shakes her head, and little droplets go flying. Then her tongue snakes out and she licks at the wet fur around her mouth. She swallows, then drops her head to the floor and licks up the spillage.

"Good girl," breathes Chase.

She turns her head to face him, her eyes locking onto his. "Good girl," he says again, a little louder. "Nina, come here."

She pads over to him, her eyes never leaving his. He takes a deep breath then crouches down in front of her. "Nina," he says, "listen to me. Do exactly what I tell you."

He straightens up, and points at Vogler. "Kill."

She carries on looking at him for a second, then slowly swings around towards Vogler. Her lips pull back from her teeth as she snarls, and the muscles in her hind legs tense up in preparation. In one fluid movement, she springs forward and connects solidly with Vogler's chest. He lets out a whooshing sound and goes over backwards as her claws rake across his neck and shoulders, green blood bubbling up through the fur. All of his arms come up and the spines sink into Nina's back. She howls and they roll over, locked together.

Vogler opens his mouth and begins to roar something, but the sound is cut off when Nina's fangs sink into his throat. He takes in a ragged, liquid breath as she buries her face deeper, then all sound ceases as she pulls her head back in a vicious sweep, his flesh ripping away and leaving a gaping hole. His head flops back and smacks down onto the floor, and a gush of blood flows out of both his mouth and his ruined throat. Nina howls in triumph then brings her head back down, pushing her mouth into the glistening flesh and swallowing.

"Good girl," says Chase, then falls to his knees and vomits quietly.


	7. Chapter 7

Angel peels off the ruined fibreglass suit and brushes lint and dust off his jeans and shirt. He squashes the suit up, rolls it into a ball and drops it into the bag that Fred's holding open. "File that under 'good idea in theory', I think."

Fred gives him a slightly rueful grin, and closes the bag. Angel's gaze slips past her. "How is she?" he asks.

Fred looks back towards where Nina is lying on her side, in front of the open cage. There's a long line of grey fur down her spine and livid green puncture wounds either side of it, but most of her skin is pink and human. Chase, who's kneeling by her side, looks up at House and says something. House nods, and Chase picks up Spike's coat and gently covers Nina with it.

"Doing well," says Fred. "Seems that Mannika venom is its own antidote. She was infected when she got bitten, so when she, uh, bit back, it more or less cancelled itself out. I think she's going to be fine." She checks her watch. "For about another nine hours, anyway. It's still a full moon tonight. It might have stopped her being a werewolf permanently, but it hasn't stopped her being one at all."

She runs a hand through her hair. "Did you get through to Wesley?"

Angel nods. "Finally, yes. He's getting a cleanup crew out here to – well, to clean up." Both their eyes slide to the remains of Vogler's body, then snap back. "And arranging a sizeable bank transfer to Chase's friend for the hire of this place. And to replace the stock that got damaged." He fingers one of the ripped rubber dresses on the rail.

"It's not your colour anyway," says Spike. He hangs a set of handcuffs back on a hook. "This place is pretty poorly equipped, really. I think this girl's customers are getting a bit of a raw deal."

Angel rolls his eyes. "Of course, you're an expert."

Spike flashes him a grin. "I know my way around this kind of place." He taps Chase on the shoulder. "Tell your mate that if she wants some proper gear, I know some people can fix her up. You know what I mean."

"She's not my mate," says Chase quickly, with a surreptitious glance at House. "I barely know her. I just went out with her sister a few times, that's all. And no, I don't know what you mean."

Spike looks him up and down. "Right. Course you don't. You're as pure and innocent as a choirboy."

"I _was_ a choirboy," says Chase, and offers a couple of lines of Ave Maria as proof. His voice cracks on the last note and he turns it into a cough. "Not quite the soprano any more, though," he says.

"I think tenor's more your style," says Lorne, giving him a long, thoughtful look.

There's a knock on the door, and they all turn towards it. "Sir?" says a burly-looking guy in grey overalls. "We're here from Specialist Solutions. I understand you have a disposal issue that needs taking care of."

"Yeah, yeah," says Angel, waving him inside. "The, uh, issue is over there. Do what you've got to do and send your invoice to Wolfram and Hart."

He gets a curt nod in return and then a small crew of guys in similar overalls walk in, armed with buckets and silver briefcases. They set to work with quiet efficiency, and Angel looks back at Fred. "Let's go," he says. "The helicopter will be waiting for us back at the hospital."

Foreman checks Nina's heart and temperature one last time, then smoothes the blanket over her stretcher. He straightens up and turns to Fred. "She's gonna be fine."

"Yeah. I think she is." Fred smiles and abruptly thrusts out her hand. "Thank you, Eric. For, you know, everything."

He gives her a surprised-looking smile and, after a moment's hesitation, takes her hand in his. "No problem. It's what we do. Kind of. Not the demon stuff so much, maybe, but - " he breaks off, and grins. "Well - now we have a new specialty, huh?"

He pauses for a second, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. He looks at it for a second then holds it out to Fred. "Just in case you ever need a second opinion."

She takes it and smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You never know."

"Fred," says Angel, coming up behind them. "It's time to go."

"Oh, yeah, okay." She looks back at Foreman. "Well. Bye, then."

He nods, then turns back towards the office.

As she watches him walk away, Fred looks down at the card in her hand. "Do we have a department of diagnostic medicine?"

Angel shakes his head. "I don't think so. We have medics, but…"

"Maybe we should. I mean, it could be useful, having someone like that around." As he reaches the door, Foreman glances back. She smiles and gives him a little wave. "Maybe we should think about opening up a position."

Spike nods towards House, who's engrossed in conversation with Cameron. "You should go for it, you know."

Chase jumps. "Huh? What?"

"With him. You've got a damn sight better chance than she does, I'll tell you that for nothing."

"I don't, uh, I don't – "

Spike grins. "Yeah," he says pointedly, "you do."

Chase opens his mouth to protest, then catches Spike's eye. He blinks at the raised-eyebrow, don't-give-me-that look and gives up. His face flushes and he stares resolutely at his feet.

Spike's grin widens. "You should tell him. Just grab your balls in both hands and flat out, up front, tell him."

"Right, sure." Chase snorts. "Look – you've _met_ him. He humiliates people like it's his mission in life. You don't really think that'd actually achieve something other than get me made into a laughing stock and/or fired, do you?"

Spike considers this, then shrugs. "You'd be surprised. It works more often than you might think – even with people who really do have a mission in life. Sometimes they just need a bit of a nudge to work out what they want. A bit of a push in the right direction." His eyes glaze over, a nostalgic expression forming on his face.

Chase goes back to watching House and Cameron. She's tight-lipped, and her arms are folded defensively. "I'm not so sure. Some people, maybe, but – " he pauses, and shakes his head. "He's really not like most people." He blinks. "Actually – _could_ he be a demon…?"

"Nah. He's your normal common-or-garden homo sapiens, all right. Well, maybe not quite so normal. But he's not a demon. Not that there's anything wrong with a bit of inter-species interaction, of course. Humans and vamps can interact very well." He winks at Chase, who flushes again

He laughs. "See, this is why he walks all over you. You make it too much fun not to."

Chase sighs. "Yeah, well. I don't think I'm exactly a natural dom. I can't see him sitting back and letting me give him a push in any direction, can you?"

"Well… maybe. In the right circumstances." Spike looks around swiftly, then reaches inside his coat. "Here," he says, and pushes something into Chase's hand. Chase looks down, and sees a rather dirty and crumpled styrofoam cup.

"There wasn't much left," says Spike. "But it should be enough to encourage him to listen to any, uh, suggestions you might have."

"Spike," calls Fred, before Chase can reply. "Come on, we're leaving."

Spike raises his hand in return. "Well," he says to Chase. "It's been fun. If you're ever in L.A. and all that, yeah?"

"Yeah," says Chase distractedly, still looking at the cup. Spike gives him an affectionate pat on the shoulder and walks off. He links arms with Fred and they head towards the door.

Lorne strides down the corridor after Angel, Spike and Fred, his cell phone clamped to his ear. "Harmony? It's me. I – yeah, okay, what messages?"

He listens to Harmony reel off a string of names, and nods impatiently. After today, he's really not in the mood to do any celebrity ego-handling. He's got things on his mind that suddenly seem more important than publicity photos that haven't been adequately airbrushed. Things like life, and death, and family – and the lies that are told about all three.

"Yeah, fine, whatever. Tell them all I'll look into it get back to them. But first, I want you to get me a number in Sydney, Australia. I want to speak to a Dr Rowan Chase."

Cameron faces House, being careful to look him squarely and assertively in the eye. "This is my resignation," she says "It's something I've been thinking about for a while. It's – it's what I need to do right now." Despite her best efforts, her gaze slips away from his.

He looks at the crisp white envelope she's holding out, but doesn't take it. "What are you going to do?"

"Take a break," she says. "For a while, at least. To think about what I'm doing. What I want." She takes a breath, and straightens her shoulders. She's made her decision, now she's just got to see it through. "I'm going to spend some time in L.A."

He nods slowly. "Ah. I see. Don't tell me, one of these guys invited you back to see his etchings."

She smiles – a small, private smile. "His sarcophagus, actually." The smile seems to irritate House, so she keeps it going.

"You're not going to change your mind," he says. She doesn't think it sounds like a question, so she makes no attempt to answer it. She just puts the envelope on his desk and walks away.

"Hey," says Foreman when the phone is finally answered. "It's me."

"Eric?" says a sleepy voice. "Damn, bro. You know what time it is?"

Foreman glances at this watch. "Ben, even allowing for the time difference, it's not early – or late – enough to justify that question."

"Huh. I see you still a smart-ass, then." The voice sounds more awake, and somehow manages to be both grumpy and warm at the same time. Foreman smiles.

"What do you want, anyway? 'Cos if it's about that car I sold Mikey, I swear I didn't know the – "

"No, no, it's nothing like that. I just wondered if you still had a number for Ronnie."

There's a pause. "What? Why would you want that?"

"I just – I just wanted to talk to him, that's all."

"Crazy Uncle Ronnie? What the hell you got to talk to him about?"

Foreman sighs. "Yeah, well, that's kind of what it is. You know, I'm not so sure he _was_ crazy."

In an opulent, expensive hotel room, Gunn slides over silky sheets to run his hand lightly along the smooth curve of Cuddy's stomach. She arches her back and sighs deeply as his fingers drift lower, pulling his head down for a long, lingering kiss.

When it finally breaks, she licks her lips and takes in a small, hitching breath as his fingers continue to move. "Charles, shouldn't you – shouldn't you call your friends, tell them what you found out about Vogler and that coffee place? It might be important."

Gunn kisses her again, then rolls them both over. She straddles him, her hands reaching down to skim over his nipples. He glances at the phone by the bed. "Yeah, sure. I will." Cuddy lifts herself up and then lowers back down, and he gasps. "Later. I'm sure they've got it all under control."

House walks slowly back towards his office, almost bumping into Wilson coming the other way. "Hey," Wilson says, sounding slightly distracted. "Haven't seen you around. How was your day?"

House stops, rubbing his chin. "Well, let's see. Cameron quit, Cuddy went AWOL and I spent most of my day getting shot at in a sex dungeon with a couple of vampires. Oh, and my patient turned into a werewolf and ate Vogler, who turned out to be a demon. So I'd say it's been pretty interesting, all things considered."

Wilson looks up from the chart he'd been studying. "Why do I even bother talking to you?" he says, shaking his head with a disappointed look on his face. "Tell me, why? The simplest, most innocuous question in the world, and you still can't even give me a straight answer. I give up on you, you know that? I just give up."

He gives House a final glare and stalks off. House smiles softly to himself, and limps back to his office.

-end-


End file.
